


Bless me, Father

by CalamithyJane (Cacilie_Blaas)



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV), The Tournament (2009)
Genre: Dirty Talk, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-04
Updated: 2013-12-04
Packaged: 2018-01-03 09:59:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1069143
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cacilie_Blaas/pseuds/CalamithyJane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Father MacAvoy promised himself that he'd never let it happen again, but when he heard her voice once more on the other side of the confessional, the priest is powerless to keep his vow.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bless me, Father

**Author's Note:**

  * For [RipperBlackstaff](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RipperBlackstaff/gifts).



"Bless me, Father, for I have sinned."

 

Joseph tried to silence his whimper, recognizing the voice. His blood rushed in his veins, muscles tensing in anticipation, eyes closed in shame. He knew what was coming, knew exactly what was going to happen next, and he should leave now, get out while he still can, but the low tones of that melodious voice pinned him in place. He was powerless to run away from it. From her. He was shameful and weak and it never stopped him from coming back to the bar, hoping to catch a glimpse of the exquisiteness of her long legs, bared in her blue sequin dress. It was why he hadn’t move yet, why he wouldn’t. 

Trembling, his hands reached for his flask, seeking the cold touch to soothe his internal struggle.

 

"I can hardly bless you for a sin. It’s forgiveness you should seek in God’s house." There was a huff of breath on the other side, quickly followed by a giggle ; Joseph imagined he could feel the hot puff of air against his skin, even though it was buried under layers of cloth. He trembled and the shiver running along his neck had little to do with the chilly air of his church. He didn’t drink, not yet. He chose to drown in her scent instead, her subtle perfume reaching him despite the wood panel separating them. It was more likely to get him drunk than any alcohol. 

 

"H— How long has it been since your last confession?" He asked, proud that the word came out clear, the tremors he felt confined to his flesh.

"Hmmm," Her voice hummed, playing with his nerves. "Couple weeks, I think ? You remember, Father, don’t you ?"

 

He could hear the twisted amusement in her Aussie accent and humiliation flowed through his soul when he swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple nudging his white collar. It felt too tight, suddenly and he challenged himself not to reach up and adjust it. The space around him was hotter than before, making it difficult to breathe. Everything helping him to focus on something else than falling in that special memory was appreciated, desired even. The confessional booth should be sacred, anonymous and a place in which the penitent voiced their sins and sought absolution, but for weeks it stopped to be. When that voice had appeared on the other side of the screen, asking Joseph to forgive her in low tones, and then describing exactly the things she needed to be forgiven for, the things she’d do for forgiveness… tainting the place.

 

"Y— Yes," He confirmed, helpless. "I remember."

 

"Good. Even if I doubt one of those fucking dumb hicks in town would love to come here to get you off." Hidden by the old confessional, he couldn’t do anything but conjure up the mocking smile certainly adorning her mouth. The soft sound of a tongue sliding over tempting lips wasn’t the product of his imagination either and he tightened his grip over the liquor waiting in his unsteady hands. "Of course not. Only I come here to tell you how much I wanna get down on my knees and suck your cock."

 

Digging his fingernails into the fleshy part of his left palm, Joseph shifted against the wooden bench and tried to ignore the heavy weight of his cock between his legs with a nip of his favorite drink. "Yes," He said. "But it’s—" Dirty. Immoral. Forbidden. He meant to say something along those lines, but his voice caught in his throat, a weak whine escaping instead. "What," He paused briefly. "Sins have you committed since then ?" Drinking, he believed.

 

"Tell me," He took a sharp breath at the honeyed tone of her voice. "Is contemplating a sin the same as committing a sin ? If it is, I might as well commit it."

 

It was a trap. "Or you may chose an another road, try for forgiveness and redemption. But I’m here to hear you, not for judgment. Go on." He couldn’t fail her like he failed everyone else in Middlesborough if she really needed his help.

 

"I think about you, Father. The things I’d do to you, the sounds you’d make and the hot look on your face when you’re trying not to come…" It was deep and dripping with seduction and it took a good amount of concentration for Joseph not to come right then. "I touch myself, thinking of you and your hands, and I get wet. I pretend it’s your fingers instead of mine playing me, making me come… Do you know how often I fingered myself thinking about it lately ?"

 

Joseph’s breath hitched and his cheeks heated with shame, but less guilt than he was expecting. It didn’t stop him from panting his answer in a quiet, shaky voice. "I—" He shouldn’t say it, he shouldn’t say— "Please. Tell me, please." 

 

The responding laugh was low and made Joseph’s stomach flip with how arousing it was. "Course you wanna know. Lemme tell you, then, how pleasant waking up from an exciting dream where you ate me up is. And _God_ , your lips. Maybe I should tell you about them, how I’d get to my knees for you while you talk about your faith, mouth your cock through your trousers, unzip you with my teeth and suck you hard. How I’d get off on your accent." Voice saccharine and sweet, tempting and blasphemous — wrong in all the right ways. Joseph could hardly think, hardly breathe, eyes wide and toes curling. "You thought I chose this confessional randomly last time, didn’t you, Father? That I get wet for some random ol’ man like the half naked bar whore people think I am ?" 

 

That was odd, the bitterness in her voice he wanted to wipe off so bad. He had to do something, to say something but then the words were failing him, the wood creaking as the woman moved, leaning close to the lattice. "No, this is all about _you_." And there was a curious sincerity in those words that made Joseph’s heart thudded in his chest; it left him breathless, light-headed and wanting for more. He bet she could do anything she chose with him. Like made a priest come in his robes during confession, distracted him with her words and her voice until he didn’t care that he was sinning, until all he wanted was more.

 

It wasn’t only the words she was saying that made his cock throbbed, it was her voice, the sound of it, the tone. The way it seeped under Joseph’ skin and got into his blood, pumping through his veins like a drug he was becoming addicted to. Dangerous and life-altering. Consuming the loneliness with the ghost of his desires. The flask was long gone, forgotten on the wooden floor, his fist clenching the fabric of his pants with despair.  

 

"You’re not. A ‘naked bar whore’, I mean." His voice was feeble and inadequate. He wasn’t worthy of her attention. Joseph was a coward and a drunkard, but when he heard her disillusioned chuckle, he almost threw the doors open to move to the other side and take her in his arms. Almost. 

 

"You don’t need to show concern. That just makes things complicated and we have to keep this simple. Who cares when I want your fingers in my cunt, sliding blissfully in me? _Fuck me_ ," She groaned and he moaned faintly her name, stopping her sentence mid-air.

 

"What did you say ?" Hardly a question, it echoed through his bones like an order. 

 

"Lacey. I said Lacey. It’s your name, isn’t it ?" A pause. His heart beat wildly against his ribs, a bird trapped in a cage, a man trapped in a calling, and all Joseph wanted to do was to keep praying her name. It sounded different like that, Lacey’s name, heavy and holy, all of the reverence Joseph have for the Church showing up. 

 

"So, you know my name." She said, voice hushed between them.

 

 There again. The faint trace of fragility in her voice. "Of cou—"  Joseph’s voice came out too thick and he stopped, tried again. "Of course I do."

 

The laugh was reproachful this time, and he didn’t really understand why. "Yeah. I suppose you do. At least, you’d had a name to scream when I’d make you come in your cassock. You’re hard, aren’t you, Father ?"

 

A whimper slipped through his bitten lips. It was a small sound, but it echoed truthfully between them. Yes, he was painfully hard. There was no use denying it, no use fighting the pull he felt low in his belly when she whispered her words — those filthy, perfect words — were whispered to him. 

 

"Yeah," Lacey purred. "Yeah, you’re fucking hard for me. You wanna touch yourself, don’t you. Wanna jerk off right there against the wooden wall. Just the thought of it and I’m close. Just the thought of you on the other side, hard and wanting…"

 

Joseph shook his head, eyes closed. He didn’t want to think about the situation. Never wanted to _think_ again because he was already full of guilt, because he was human and weak and he could admit that he wanted this, desperately. That he wanted every little thing she talked about and more, wishes waiting to be fulfilled. Sins waiting to be committed. He was frightened by his needs, petrified by the crude desire to please her in any way. 

 

"Tell me ?" Joseph asked before he can stop himself. His pulse roared in his ears, fingers aching from the fist he had them clenched in. "Lacey." He shouldn’t encourage this, but he needed to know. "What—" He fought for his words even more when the woman groaned at her name and Joseph disgracefully wondered if her hand was busy between her thighs. "What do you want from me ?" He was pleading for her to let him know. 

 

"I want to mark your pretty skin so bad. Want people to know what I’ve done, how hard I’ve fucked you and hear them whisper about how inappropriate we are. I’d fuck you senseless, twist your damn hair in my fingers and pin you down and _fucking ride you._ I’d bite you until you bruise, until there’s really something for that collar to hide."

 

 He was intoxicated by her, completely subjugated. "It’s be so good, Father. I’d start on my knees and work my way up. Kiss you everywhere. Lick and suck. Gonna feel you in my mouth, breathe in and smell only you, thick and hot. Wanna fuck myself with my fingers while you watch and make you beg me for more. Bet I can make you scream when you’d fuck me, filling me up, clenching around your cock, pet. But I’m sure you’d love to hear me moan your name too, while you pound me against the altar. Yeah, you’d fuck me on my back and I want you to look at me when I came, want you to grip my shoulders and gasp my name. Use me and bruise me. Kiss me and fuck me. I wanna lick all your faults on your skin, taste your sins on my tongue." 

 

Joseph grunted all his being focused toward the woman on the other side. He could hear the slippery noises her fingers made when roughly entering herself. The small enclosed space of the confessional kept everything inside, sounds and scent and the musky scent of her made him dizzy, head swarming and mouth dried. He was thirsty and, like a man in a desert, Lacey was his oasis, perfect temptation forever out of reach. 

 

He nearly yelped when the tips of her fingers appeared, shining with strain against the wooden grid. The sounds of her efforts between her thighs and her shuddering breath let him know she was still working herself with her other hand. Joseph released a pitiful sound, echoing her low moans. 

 

" _Fuck_. I’m so fucking wet and you’re _right there_. I can hear you, your ragged breath, your whimpers. Every fucking shift of your hips on that bench. Are you touching yourself or do I need to come in there and do it myself ? There’s just enough room in here for two, I bet I could fit between your thighs. Or, or on your lap. Yeah, could ride you right there, bite at your throat and mess up with your hair so it’s a little less altar boy, a little more rock ’n roll."

 

"Yes," Joseph whispered, hand coming up to mirror the one press against the wooden screen, touching her for the first time, caressing Lacey’s wet fingers. " _Yes."_

 

"Your hand," Lacey’s voice raised in pitch just slightly near the end, like she was wanting and desperate and close. "I wa— I wanna feel it on my—"

 

The rest of her words are bitten off, a muffled cry carrying across the short distance between them, and Joseph knew she was coming, recognized the sound for what it was even if he never knew before her. It lit him up in ways he didn’t know were possible, made him want to snap and do something wild, crazy. Possibly run to the other side and kneel in front of her and lap up, begging her to let him worship her.

 

Instead, he shut his eyes, ignoring his aching cock through his vestments and kept feeling Lacey’s knuckles under his thumb and wondering what it’s be like to caress her all over. He came untouched, bottom lip between his teeth, heart pounding madly.

 

When it was over, when he was breathless and shaking, pants sticking uncomfortably and shame coming down in waves, Joseph found bright blue eyes watching him through the lattice, playful and shining. 

 

"Thanks be to God" Lacey said, and then those eyes were moving away, the hand was gone from the screen and Joseph was left alone in the confessional, heart still coming down, soul shattered with longing.


End file.
